


You're My Son

by Shmin



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Gore, Dadza, Dead Wilbur Soot, Gross, Heavy DreamSMP Spoilers, Hurt No Comfort, I Will Also Definitely Write A Thought Dump on Techno and Tommy, Insane Wilbur Soot, Mentioned Alexis | Quackity, Mentioned Eret - Freeform, Mentioned Technoblade, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Tubbo, Mild Gore, My L'manburg, Philza Minecraft is Fucking Devastated, SBI Supremecy, The Presidents Are Dead, Thought dump, Villain Wilbur Soot, Why Does AO3 Have Their Real Names as Part of the Tags, anyway, so much swearing, this place about to blow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27604517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shmin/pseuds/Shmin
Summary: My interpretation of that scene of Phil joining up to Wilbur dying and recite my favorite quote.Also, Phil and Wilbur swear a lot plus light gore so teen and up!TRIGGER WARNING!There is some gore, beginning at "Wilbur turned and slammed his fist" skip to “Phil, look! How much work went into this and it’s gone?”Be safe!
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 108





	You're My Son

**Author's Note:**

> !TRIGGER WARNING!  
> There is some gore, beginning at "Wilbur turned and slammed his fist" skip to “Phil, look! How much work went into this and it’s gone?”  
> Be safe! x2

Wilbur stared down the small tunnel, eyes not believing the person standing right in front of him.  
  


“Phil,” he breathed out, watching his father figure approach hesitantly.  
  


Phil gently held Wilbur’s hand, “Will, what are you doing?”  
  


The blonde held a stern and reassuring gaze, he always knew how to calm down his found family. It was always Phil to calm things down when needed, he held the family together when it was close to crashing. Phil was what had kept Wilbur, Techno, and Tommy together countless times before.  
  


Wilbur clenched his jaw, deciding that this time would be different. He would change the world of history. Tommy believed Wilbur betrayed him, Phil was ashamed of him, Fundy left him long ago.

  
Techno wanted bloodshed, anarchy. The destruction of L’Manburg was the only thing holding Wilbur to the last of his family.  
  


“Phil, do you know what these words mean? What this button means?” he asked, taking his hand back. A sadistic giddiness overcame him in a flash, although his heart never quite forgot the black hole formed in his stomach from the day Eret gave up on the rebellion.  
  


The older stood his ground, “Wilbur, you can take it all back. It’s all in your grasp now, everything is right in front of you. You’ve done it, they’ve done it.”  
  


Sickening was the laugh that erupted from Wilbur. Loud, boisterous, disgusting.  
  


Instead, he stood up, arms out wide, “Philza! I’ve been in this damn room 7 or so fucking times! I made the promise to myself that I’d blow that pathetic mound of dirt to smithereens so many fucking times! I don’t even know if this button works anymore!” It all spilled out, he felt as if he was writing his last thoughts on a scrap piece of paper before he died. He had to get it all out before he had to say farewell forever.  
  


Yet, every wave crashes, however tall it may be, it all returns to its somber home. Wilbur was no different, he deflated as quickly as he rose.  
  


“So, you want to blow it all up? All that hard work to get it back going to waste? Everything you gave for this nation down the gutter?” Phil asked, blocking out the sounds of fighting outside the walls.  
  


Wilbur nodded, “I do, I want to blow it all up.”  
  


Phil turned to the button, knowing that there was little he could do to stop Wilbur at that point. A silence passed by before Wilbur turned to look at his father.  
  


“There was a saying, Phil, by a traitor, once part of L’Manburg. I don’t know if you’ve heard of Eret?” he prompted, forcing his smile to be as soft as Phil’s loving, green eyes. Oh, how he had found sanctuary in those eyes that crystalized themselves in his heart. He truly did wish he could be the benefitter of the affection Phil looked at his brothers with one day.  
  


“Yeah?”  
  


Wilbur turned to the button, amusement replacing what kindness he had left for the people he once ruled over.  
  


“It was never meant to be.”  
  


Phil’s eyes snapped up, hearing the slow sizzle of the TNT on the other side of the wall.  
  


“Oh my god,” he breathed, watching in horrified shock as his eldest son leaned back in the isolated bench he made for himself and saluted.  
  


As the TNT blasted through the wall between them and L’Manburg, Phil watched it cause everyone below them to scatter to avoid being blown to pieces. His eyes and ears being overloaded with overwhelming fear from those too young for war.  
  


“Oh my god!” he screamed, catching glimpse of Tommy barely escaping some TNT and Quackity getting launched into the air with a burnt and bent hand. The sight in front of him was horrific, knowing it was caused by his own son made it sickening.  
  


Phil turned to his son, “Will! It’s all gone!” His son breathed a sigh of relief, he slouched with an expression that Phil could only describe as jubilation. He knew what Wilbur felt in that moment, seeing him finally smile without it being forced. He had seen that kind of expression on Techno too many times not to recognize it.  
  


Wilbur was freed, Wilbur had emancipated himself from the hellish prison that was created for him.  
  


The taller suddenly stood, eyes shining brighter than he had ever seen them do so in the past few months. He gleefully turned to Phil, taking the sword he had hidden under his coat from its place.  
  


Wilbur fell down to take a closer look at the disaster he had caused, barely anyone was still in the area. If only he’d had more TNT and time he would’ve littered some of the Dream SMP land with some as well. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a way to return to the past anymore so he could only reminisce on what had once been.  
  


“My L’Manburg, Phil! My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished,” he breathed a liberating breath of air, “If I can’t have this, no one can, Phil!”  
  


“Oh my god.”  
  


Sorrow and heartache weren’t the words to describe the immense enervation that overtook his body. His youngest son gripped his arm in pain; betrayed, unfettered loyalty to those who hurt him most coating his every word. Tubbo, hiding in the smallest space he could find to avoid being assassinated as the newly enacted president of a land far too gone. Both far too young to fully comprehend why their revolution had turned this way.  
  


Wilbur suddenly climbed up from where he had fallen, “Kill me, Phil. Phil, kill me.” He shoved the sword into Phil’s hands, the former’s hands were shakier than they had ever been before.  
  


“Phil, stab me with a sword. Murder me now, kill me. Kill me,” he insisted, “Do it, kill me, Phil. They all want you to! Do it, Phil, kill me.”  
  


It was all too jarring, too many things happening in rapid succession, too many things to take in.  
  


All Phil knew when he met his eldest son’s eyes was that the soft, joyful brown he had grown accustomed to were diluted into a mesh of delirium and a fragment left of the boy he raised. Still, Phil felt a wave of adoration when looking at his son, no matter who he had become. Buried deep within the unhinged delusions of a man who had been stripped of all will to fight was the boy he knew to give warm smiles and warmer hugs. The boy he knew to sing songs that pulled on hearts as easily as he laughed, the boy whose charisma rewarded him a nation with the people he held closest.  
  


“I,” Phil gulped, seering molten spirals of pain consuming him, “You’re my son!”  
  


Crying was something Phil refused to do, not then, not when he needed to remain strong for his sons. It was the most ambitious task he had ever assigned to himself, he bit back a shaky breath.  
  


“Phil, kill me!”  
  
“No matter what you do, no matter what you do I can’t-”  
  


Wilbur turned and slammed his fist against the nearest stone wall. Blood gushed out from his ruined fist and splattered when his hand hit the wall again. Skin tearing away to allow the liquid to spill onto the floor. A third hit allowed his hand to finally break, bone making a stomach-churning noise that made Phil flinch. A hysterical haze overcame Wilbur, adrenaline replacing all fear he had of death.   
  


“Phil, look! How much work went into this and it’s gone?”  
  


He turned back to Phil, instinct telling him his pain would be gone soon when seeing the familiar sight of green and yellow through blurred eyes, “Do it.”  
  


“Do it.”  
  


Phil’s head snapped to Wilbur, slashing the latter across the chest.

Once.

Twice.

His son crumpled to the ground, body relaxing for the last time.  
  


Running at a speed faster than he could comprehend, Phil’s mind was reeling from the massacre he witnessed. All he wanted was to end his children’s suffering, but Wilbur left him no choice but to end his pain in the most cruel way.  
  


Wilbur was in pain, he was trapped by his own brain in a mental prison created from numerous betrayals and mistrust of others. He had been abandoned too many times to trust as easily as he did when L’Manburg was formed. Even now, the only person on his side was himself.  
  


“Phil, Dream said to us that there was no traitor. Phil, he lied. It was Technoblade, it was Technoblade,” Wilbur chuckled softly.  
  


Blood seeped from all his wounds, his ripped skin feeling nauseating against his unwashed clothing, “He’s got eight Withers on the ready, Phil. So, you better run as fast as you can, Phil.”  
  


The panic of more death overcame Phil, it consumed him and suffocated him. It propelled him out of the hole in the mountainside to find the younger.  
  


The panic stopped his brain from functioning.  
  


With Wilbur, his broken brain flashed in and out of the nation leader he once was and the revolution dog he now was. Unfortunately, it had chosen to allow Wilbur a last moment of clarity as it processed Phil leaving him behind.

  
“Dad, I love you,” he tried to call out, voice ruined as was what was his L’Manburg.  
  


Only later did Phil realize that he had not only killed his own son, but he had left him to die alone. His son’s last word was his own father’s name as far as he knew.  
  


That night, Phil returned to his son’s corpse.

That night, Phil sobbed into his son’s lifeless body and screamed louder than he had ever done in all his years of life.

That night, Phil mourned the death of his eldest son and held him closer than he had ever held anything or anyone before.

That night, Phil remained at Wilbur’s side until the sun rose to reveal that, truly, Phil never held his son. He had only held a rotting corpse, destined to be rested six feet underground.

In peace, sons bury their fathers. In war, fathers bury their sons.

**Author's Note:**

> I write for SBI only, only they exist /j  
> I also have the short/original version of It's/My L'Manburg memorized so maybe I'll write something with that because I adore Wilbur changing the "it'" to a "my" after he was exiled. It's so subtle yet tells so much about how he sees L'Manburg as opposed to Niki who still sang the original lyrics


End file.
